


dying beasts & boundless sky

by witchykitsch



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: & also gets the love and redemption he desperately deserves, Action/Adventure, Erik Killmonger Lives, Fix-It, M/M, erik killmonger appreciation station, mysticism & magic, wakandan mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-21 15:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchykitsch/pseuds/witchykitsch
Summary: T’Challa turns his back on the body for one moment. When he looks again, Erik is gone. Down the savanna, in a small village outside Birnin Zana, Bucky Barnes wakes up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sensing death,  
> The buzzards gather —  
> Noting the last struggle  
> Of flesh under weather,  
> Noting the last glance  
> Of agonized eye  
> At passing wind  
> And boundless sky.  
> \- Dying Beast by Langston Hughes

Blood seeps out of Erik’s open wound and pools at T’Challa’s feet, mixing with little rivers streaming down his body. The claw marks are still fresh, they still sting, and he hasn’t caught his breath yet. There hasn’t been time, and now that the adrenaline fades he can feel the ache deep in his bones, from frost and falls and resurrections.

 _Bury me in the ocean._ He’ll need Okoye, and the Dora Milaje. A royal escort to take his body to the sea. Erik is blood, and Erik is royalty, and he deserves a royal death.

T’Challa turns his back on the body. For minutes, Erik is alone on that plateau, a steep drop down to water and rocks.

When T’Challa returns, the body is gone.

***

**Bucky**

The first few weeks are hard for Bucky. He drifts in and out of consciousness while the world carries on around him. Sometimes, children wander into the hut and play with his hair, braiding it and wiping the dirt off his hand. They giggle and call him something he doesn’t understand at first- and then the training kicks in, and though he can’t move, can’t think, sometimes can’t breathe… he listens, and he learns.

 _White Wolf_ , they call him. Shuri explains it when she’s sitting with him one night. “Trust me, it’s a good nickname. They could have come up with something much worse.”

She smiles bright like the sun as she runs him through his physical therapy. Touch your fingers to your thumb, one at a time. Place your index on your nose. Turn left, turn right, follow the light. The ritual is rote by now, after so many times coming out of deep freeze.

The next time she returns, the light is gone from her eyes, replaced with worry no teenager should ever experience. Bucky almost asks her if she’s alright, before he forgets how to form words. She waves it off with a scoff, says something about South Korea, and drops a stack of books at his feet.

“They tell me you aren’t leaving the hut, oaf. If you won’t take walks, at least exercise your brain.” She winks at him, and his mouth curls up into a rusty smile. Shuri reminds him of his little sisters. He would die for her in a heartbeat.

The books are in Xhosa, and the one on top is a language primer. Shuri makes a joke about how, in a few months, he might be at the same reading level as the children who braid his hair. Bucky replies he’ll be done in a week, if she can bring more books then. She looks surprised, and then she punches his shoulder, laughing, and calls him cocky.

A week later, she doesn’t come back. Or the week after that. After the third week, Bucky starts taking walks.

His hut is on the outskirts of the village, and when he enters it’s bustling with commerce, vivid and bright. He remembers a stall in Bucharest and looks down at the shiny fruit in front of him. The woman watching from behind the stand laughs when she recognizes him, and a ripple of “White Wolf” spreads through the market. His muscles tense, his body ready to bolt- but she just waves at him. “Are you hungry? Take them, take them! I’ve plenty more,” and shoves a handful of plums towards him with a wink. He doesn’t know how to turn her down so he just nods, and says thank you.

He wanders through the village, carefully cataloging every exit and entrance. People are excited to see him, eager to ask him questions now that he’s finally out and walking amongst the living. It’s disconcerting for a long while, but he’s a trained spy and so he quickly adapts.

After that, he takes more walks. Shuri still doesn’t return. Every afternoon he has coffee with the fruit vendor, whose name he learns is N’Neka. She has five children, all daughters. The eldest is a doctor, the youngest an engineer attending school in Birnin Zana. She likes it out here though, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Besides, she has her Kimoyo beads whenever she wants to talk to her children.

Bucky meets more people through his walks. They all call him White Wolf, and he starts to like it. Shuri was right… it’s better than Soldat.

Shuri returns at the start of the next month, looking older but still bright. They sit together by the lake, bare feet dangling in the water.

“I heard you were making friends,” Shuri says, elbowing him in the side. His lip quirks up, just a little.

“I don’t make friends. They’re strategic contacts.”

“Oh? Are you getting a lot of very important classified info from N’Neka in town, then?”

“I learned she grows her plums near Jabari lands, but that she has a trade agreement with the government there. I think she’d make a good spy, I was considering recruiting her.” He gives Shuri a wider smile that she matches, throwing her head back with a laugh.

“Ha! Joker! She could kick your ass, you know. She used to be Dora Milaje.” Bucky knows this. He knows a lot about the people in this village now. He likes it here.

Shuri tells him what happened- of T’Challa’s fall, his death, his rebirth. Bucky understands, because Bucky’s been through that too. It happens. “We’re built to survive falls,” he tells Shuri, and she nods. Gives him a pat on his elbow.

She mentions a man named Erik. Killmonger, she calls him, mouth curled down. She is angry at this man, so he must be dead. If he was still alive, Shuri would not be here, she would be there, making sure he knew just how angry she was.

When he asks about it, Shuri just sighs. “I was angry… I was also sad, I think. But T’Challa was saddest of them all, the big fool.”

The sun begins to set over the water as they sit and talk. Shuri tells him about the gloves, the fight, car chases and battles on the plains. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” Bucky tells her, and he is genuinely sorry. He’s also not sure he’d be much use with no arm.

“You’d better stay out of wars for now, Mr. Barnes. Leave the fighting to us. We can handle ourselves.”

“You sure about that? Come on, let’s see what you got.” Until the light dies in the sky, they spar. Bucky shows her a few hand-to-hand combat moves. She still can’t quite knock him off his feet, though she says if she had her glove she could give him a run for his money. He says if he had his arm, so could he. She leaves as the stars twinkle high in the sky, bright and clear this far from the city. She says she’ll be back in a week with a present, and her gloves.

***

His hand slips from Steve’s and he’s falling, falling. There’s no end, no ground, no sudden stop. He’s just weightless in the darkness, wind whooshing past his ears. It almost sounds like a bell ringing above rushing water. Does it toll for him? He doesn’t know.

Off in the bleak distance, a golden light illuminates the sky, shattering the darkness. Sunlight washes over his skin. He reaches out for it, but then he realizes he’s still falling, and now he can see the ground speeding towards him.

Like always, he wakes right at the impact.

It’s dark out, still. He checks his watch, which tells him it’s exactly 3:33 AM.

He puts on his boots, and he walks out of the hut. The village is silent, save for the occasional dog bark, but he doesn't go towards it. Instead, he walks along the water, following the lake until it turns into a river, and then following that.

The sound of rushing water. In the distance, he can hear a bell. It gets closer as he continues walking, until he can tell it’s not a bell at all but a small chime, sounding in warning. He scans the darkness for the source, and sees a small red light blinking on the other bank of the river.

He wades across, swearing to himself at the unsteady footing, but keeps trudging. Soon he’s close enough to see what it is. A watch alarm. And, attached to the watch is an arm, and attached to that arm is the rest of a body.

Bucky crouches down, slowly turning the body over. At first he thinks it’s T’Challa, before he looks at the face and realizes it isn’t, that this man is a stranger in a cat suit who has washed up in the river.

He’s still breathing, though barely, and bloody too.

 _We looked for him everywhere, but the body was gone… that was three days ago._ That’s what Shuri had told him, when he asked what became of Killmonger.

Bucky thinks of pulling Steve from the Potomac, of dragging his bloody body to shore though he was so sure the man was an enemy. He thinks of being dragged from the bottom of those icy cliffs.

He bends down, and very carefully, he begins carrying Erik Killmonger back to the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to probably the only fic in the entire world that will ever ship erik killmonger and bucky barnes. i have lovingly dubbed this ship "killwolf".
> 
> a few notes: the language they speak in the film is xhosa, and it's spoken by over 7 million people in south africa! so that's the official language of wakanda in the MCU.
> 
> this will be a multi-chapter story that will somehow attempt to convince you that erik and bucky could and should totally smooch. i've already written the outline of the entire story, and i hope you'll all enjoy it!
> 
> you can check out my twitter @thebuckypit where i mostly scream about bucky, and erik.


	2. Chapter 2

**Erik**

Erik Killmonger’s head hurts. It’s the first thought that pops up, followed quickly by: goddamn, shit, and ‘Oh, I fucked up.’. He grits his teeth and tries to move, but he finds his body doesn’t want to listen to him. Alright, fine. He sees how it is, he isn’t gonna push it. He’s either in Hell tied to some demon’s torture table, or he’s not. Either way, he’s got to know before he makes plans.

 _Open your eyes._ Nothing. He tries again. _Open your fucking eyes_ . This time, finally, they obey, and blinding light floods his vision. He groans, squinting into it. He could close his eyes again, look away, make the pain stop. But since when has he ever made the pain _stop_?

He’s in a house… single room, one entrance, open-air windows covered with reed mats. The sun is beating down hot and bright outside, baking the dirt. He can smell it like cracked clay, reminds him of a kiln and dirt under his nails. Cities on fire.

He tries to move again, and now he can see why he can’t: he’s been tied down to a small cot, wrists bound and chest wrapped. Dark blood stains the bandages, but it’s old and dry and it seems like the wound has stopped oozing.

Across from him in the hut sits a white boy, sitting and staring motionlessly.

He has a plum in one hand.

Alright. Ok. He tries to ask, “who the hell are you?” or maybe “what the fuck?” or even just “what?” but his throat won’t cooperate. Too raw, too cracked. His voice comes out in a low groan, and then it doesn’t come out at all.

White boy gets up, and Erik struggles against the bindings. He’d never admit it, but he’s starting to panic a little now. Waking up with his wrists tied has never been his favorite activity. He remembers training, days locked away in little huts in abandoned villages, forced to escape with nothing. He remembers torture training, and then he remembers torture.

But when the stranger approaches, he just plops a plum down onto Erik’s chest, and warily goes back to his spot against the hut.

Erik stares down at it. Clears his throat. Forces his voice to work (it’s one of his many weapons, distract and disarm).

“How the hell am I supposed to eat this? My hands are tied.”

The man frowns, then jolts his shoulders up in a little shrug. Erik can see him more clearly now, and he knows the guy’s missing an arm. Soldier instincts tell him to size the man up, that he could still be a threat. Broad chest, short stubble, long brown hair that falls into sad eyes. He looks around the hut, and then down at himself.

“We still in Wakanda?” he asks slowly, warily.

The man nods.

“You got a name?”

The man nods again. Silence. Erik thinks to himself: _great, trapped in a hut with an idiot. Or an asshole_. He tries again.

“You wanna tell me what it is?”

The man watches him for another long moment, and then he sighs, and he says: “Bucky.” Then: “You’re not… trapped here. You’re not a prisoner. But I didn’t exactly want you to stab me.”

Sure, alright. Erik doesn’t believe him, but he tries to nod, let the guy think he’s cooperative. He’s already trying to calculate how to escape, how to run, how to kill this guy and get out. But Bucky looks at him like he knows exactly what he’s planning. He nods his chin towards Erik’s bound arms.

“That’s why you’re tied up. You promise not to stab me, I’ll take them off.”

Erik has had a long week. He’s had a long year. Hell, he’s had a long life. He’s tired, and right now he’s fucking had it.

“Gotta be honest with you, kinda feel like stabbing you,” he tells Bucky. Bucky shrugs again.

“You wouldn’t be the first, bud. But I gotta be honest with you… I don’t think you’d get very far if you did, right now. You’re kind of a mess.”

Erik scoffs, but he feels it. It’s not just the wound to his chest, it’s _everywhere_. His whole goddamn body aches and burns. Even breathing is a struggle.

But he’s alive, and he doesn’t hear any other guard posted outside. This could be a trick, something designed to destabilize him, throw him off kilter. Could also be real, which means he heals up, gets stronger, and gets free. He’s got unfinished business.

“Alright. Say I promise not to stab you. You gonna take my handcuffs off then?” First glance tells him this guy’s some sort of soldier too. It’s in the way he holds himself, the muscles. Bucky’s brow knits together at the question, but he gets up, and he slowly lowers himself down near the bed.

This close, he smells like gun oil and blood. Familiar.

“You fell off a cliff,” Bucky tells him. He knows he fell off a fucking cliff. He rolled himself off the fucking cliff. One final disobedience. He knew the broken promise would rob T’Challa of his closure surer than anything else.

Honestly… hadn’t really expected to survive. But he could work with this, same as he could work with anything.

“And, what, you found me? White boy wandering Wakanda, doing good deeds?”

Bucky looks at him quizzically, and then frees his wrists from the binds. They were soft cloth, shouldn’t have given him any challenge if he were at full health. The problem is, he’s nowhere near that right now.

He slowly sits up, muscles aching from disuse, chest spasming with pain, and leans against the wall, eyes closing again. He takes a deep breath, panting with the effort, and grips the edge of the cot hard. The plum rolls to the ground and stops, bumping against one of his feet.

“I was taking a walk, and you washed up on shore. Bad place to take a nap,” Bucky says grimly. It almost makes Erik laugh. Instead, he gives the man a half grin that turns to a grimace.

“So, let me see if I got this straight. You were just taking a stroll down by the lake, as you do, find an asshole in a cat suit passed out in the river, and what… take him back home to meet your parents? The fuck you really do this for?”

Erik can see annoyance, and then confusion dance over the other man’s face. For a second he feels triumphant. Destabilize and destroy.

“You were hurt,” says Bucky. He looks down where his arm once was, and then picks up the plum from the dirt. He gently wipes it off, and then he offers it to Erik once more.

Erik knocks it out of his hand. Bucky shrugs, and leaves it on the ground, some sort of botched peace offering.

“I know I was hurt. Should have let me fucking die,” Erik snaps, but doesn’t really mean it. What’s he got waiting for him on the other side? An apartment and a father who left him too. That, or he goes straight to Hell and rots for an eternity.

Or maybe there’s nothing, and he finally gets some peace and quiet. Wouldn’t that be nice.

***

Erik doesn’t know how to _do_ peace and quiet. This becomes exceedingly apparent after exactly one day of being in Bucky’s care.

There’s nothing to do, and Bucky doesn’t talk much. Every time Erik tries to start a conversation, out of sheer boredom, Bucky looks shocked at being addressed and then gives a one word reply.

Sometimes he can see a flicker of a personality, and might even admit to himself he kinda likes what he sees. He keeps pushing, because he’s good at that, good at pushing people, making them uncomfortable. Only Bucky’s _always_ uncomfortable and Erik can’t seem to find any real cracks in the armor. Talking to him feels like talking to a robot who only sometimes remembers it’s pretending to be human.

At night, Erik dreams. The hut falls away and those familiar walls are back, an apartment in Oakland where his daddy’s body lay. N’Jobu is sitting there cross legged, looking disappointed the way only a distant father figure can. Erik’s not crying this time as he takes a seat at the small table, runs his hands over the guns laying across it.

“You’re lost,” says his father. Outside, neon lights dance across the plains like a nightclub fever dream. Erik doesn’t look out the window.

“I’m not fucking lost,” Erik snaps back. “I just _lost_. Finally lived up to your legacy. Now we’re both losers.”

N’Jobu doesn’t say anything. Even in his dreams, Erik can’t hold a conversation with someone.

He refuses to consider maybe this time it’s his fault.

***

**Bucky, Three Days Earlier**

For the first few days, Erik Killmonger doesn’t wake up, and Bucky is relieved. He hasn’t had a roommate since- well, if he didn’t count Hydra, since Steve, and that was more him passing out on Steve’s couch after another late night bender. He doesn’t know what you’re supposed to do with a roommate, and he especially doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act anymore. Maybe with Steve it was easy, but with everyone else, his personality still comes in fits and starts.

At least it’s real. At least he’s real. He reminds himself of this fact every morning, says it out loud so he can hear his own voice and make his own mouth move and his own ears hear. It helps.

Bucky binds Killmonger’s wrists, just in case. And then he cleans the wounds all over his body, leaving him stripped to a pair of black boxer briefs (Armani) and nothing else. The watch (Apple, cracked screen, Hermes edition) he sets carefully down by the bed.

It’s slow going, because he wants to be careful. He won’t risk infection. That first day, he goes out into the market and buys everything he needs, and he has it all splayed in front of him now. He knows if he took Killmonger to a doctor they could sew him up like magic in minutes, have him good as new. But they can’t risk a doctor, because then someone will recognize Killmonger and take him away.

Bucky knows after he fell from a cliff, the last thing he wanted was to wake up in a cell. And that’s exactly where he’d woken up.

He does what Steve would do, minus the moral dilemma beforehand. He just… takes care of Killmonger. Slowly nurses him back to health.

He still hasn’t woken up, but at night Killmonger dreams. He screams in his dream, thrashing and stretching against the bindings. Tears streak down his cheeks. Bucky has to hold him down when he thrashes, sitting carefully on his stomach and forcing his shoulders back with one arm, so he doesn’t damage the stitches and so Killmonger doesn’t wake the entire village.

When Killmonger does finally wake up, Bucky is no more prepared than he was a few days ago. The man is loud, and likes to push buttons. He reminds Bucky of men he knew in the army. Good soldiers, good friends. They’re all dead. He reminds Bucky of the man he was, once. But angry, broken, still bleeding from a raw open wound.

Figuratively, and literally. Erik tears the stitches in the first day, and Bucky has to sigh and restitch the whole thing, feeling fondly exasperated. He almost says, ‘you gotta take it easy, Stevie,’ but stops himself when he remembers Steve’s not here. Steve is out there somewhere saving the world.

He’s in a hut with Erik Killmonger, who nearly destroyed the world.

 _So did I_. Guess they both belonged there, then. Where they couldn’t hurt anyone else.

At night, Bucky dreams. Endless dark, and in the distance, a storm brews on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> erik is fun but a little challenging to write because his inner dialogue is always ready to fight someone, but he's really good at pretending like he's not. he likes to challenge people and he likes to throw them off kilter and make them uncomfortable... but bucky's a terrible target for it so they're both a little awkward at first. 
> 
> hope the switching narrators doesn't confuse anyone too much! i just want to make sure i tell both sides of their story, since their inner dialogue tells so much about how they're perceiving things that they won't ever say out loud.


	3. Chapter 3

**Erik**

Raw anger fades with his wounds, and every day spent wallowing in his own mistakes hardens his resolve, and brings him calm. He was angry when he woke up, but then he’s always lowkey a little angry. It doesn’t usually dance on his face, freely advertising his intent. As he evens out, so does Bucky. After the third day, another sleepless night, he’s almost feeling a little fond of the guy.

Maybe that’s why he starts asking him questions, and not just because he’s looking for flaws to exploit. Bucky’s something weird, and sure Erik’s training has kicked in, gathering intel… but he also just wants to know what the guy’s deal is.

They’re sitting in the hut, it’s night out, and Bucky has brought back more fruit and pre-prepared foods. Guy eats like he’s still overseas, MREs and dry goods and things that don’t need preparation.

“You always eat like a depressed college student?” he asks, in the middle of a sit up. His body is healing faster than it ever has before. The wound is already just a raised, painful scar. But it’s not enough, and he still feels weak. Still can’t risk leaving, and getting caught. Even if he feels restless.

Bucky shrugs that little shrug he always does, stopping in the middle of sharpening a hunting knife, and says: “Never went to college.”

Doesn’t bother denying the depressed part, though. Erik stops, settles back down against the cot, and gives Bucky one of those long penetrating stares he’s been doing a lot lately. Trying to get him, but he just… doesn’t.

So he asks. “Alright, what’s your deal?”

Bucky gives him a bemused little grin, blinking slowly at him. “My deal?”

He nods. Gestures to Bucky’s whole… him. He’s not actually used to being curious about other people, not genuine curiosity. But he also hasn’t ever been locked in a hut with them for days at a time while slowly recovering from a mortal wound. Situations change. He adapts.

“You’re in Wakanda but you don’t look like you’re doing anything too nefarious. You got no arm, you don’t talk, and if you think I haven’t noticed the nightmares, you got no brain either. So… what’s your deal? Who are you?”

Everyone with problems that big is someone, Erik’s learned. You don’t get hit that hard unless whatever’s doing the hitting has a long shelf life. Besides, he’s trained military, and he’s fucking weird. He’s gotta be hiding something.

The silence in the room is nearly deafening, as Bucky puts the knife down carefully, blinks slowly, and looks down at where his arm should be.

He says, soft: “They used to call me the Winter Soldier.”

And that’s a name Erik knows, one he recognizes from CIA Kill lists, from ghost stories whispered overseas, from a newsreel replaying the footage of that bombing, the one that made T’Challa king and killed his daddy.

“Nice to meet you,” Erik says. “Fan of your work.”

***

**Bucky**

“I didn’t kill T’Challa’s father,” Bucky says first, because he wants to make sure Killmonger understands that. The man shrugs, drops back into position, and keeps working out. Bucky can feel his eyes on him though, even as he turns his back, muscles tense.

“I wasn’t talking about that. Though, gotta say, would’ve been a fan of that too. But they talked about you at The Farm. Used your methods in training. The shit they said you could do…”

Killmonger shakes his head. “Almost put me to shame. We all thought we were gonna be the one to take you out. Kind of admired you at the same time.”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably, and tries to ignore the phantom itch in his left arm. He picks the knife back up, give his hands something to do, and keeps sharpening it.

“I don’t… do that anymore.” If he says it enough, will he start to believe it? Will it make it true?

Killmonger gets up, wipes the sweat off his chest with a towel draped over a little wooden peg, and juts his chin in Bucky’s direction.

“Yeah? Why’d you stop?”

How does he explain it to someone like Killmonger, someone still so deep in the blood and the muck that he can’t picture what it’s like on the other side? It’s like coming up to someone in the middle of a war and asking them what they’ll do when it’s done. Wars never end, not when you’re still in them.

“I got… tired.” It’s not a real answer, not really. Sure, he got tired: tired of being a robot, a tool, some freak who obeyed and killed and hurt and never thought. The long answer is complicated, he’s not sure how to explain it. “There was… Steve.”

“Captain America.” Killmonger scoffs, lip curled up in disgust. “Whose America, exactly? He supposed to represent me and mine, too?”

“I don’t think he really likes the name,” Bucky replies. “And the guys who gave it to him were assholes. He’s just… Steve. From Brooklyn.”

Killmonger frowns. “Not to a lotta people, he’s not.” He shakes his head. “So, you’re… what, from the 1940’s? How’s that work?”

“Well, y’see, when two people love each other-”

Killmonger laughs, and drops down to sit on the cot. “Alright, asshole. You know what I meant.”

So Bucky explains. The whole sordid story, or at least what he can remember of it. He starts small: Steve, skinny and scrappy, and a little apartment in Brooklyn. He can still see the walls, the look on Steve’s face after his mother died, the promise: Til the end of the line. Then the war, and a lab in Azzano, missions. A train. A fall.

Killmonger listens to it all intently. He doesn’t ask questions, or interrupt. He just… listens.

When Bucky gets to T’Challa, finally, Killmonger cracks.

“How’d you survive? He wanted you dead. With all those powers, he could’ve had you dead. Got me, in the end. So how?”

Bucky frowns, because he’s wondered this a lot himself. Maybe wanted it, for a little bit after the fever dream of running faded away.

“I didn’t kill his father… and he was smart enough to see that.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t he kill Zemo? Why let him live, why give him to Ross?”

Bucky asked T’Challa this himself, on the flight to Wakanda.

“Because he forgave him,” he replies, though he’s still not really sure he gets it. Across the hut, on the cot, Killmonger laughs.

***

**Erik**

Forgave him. The sentiment still stings the next day, when Erik thinks about it too much. He’s been a victim of T’Challa’s forgiveness, felt the self-righteous sting of it on that cliff. He’d chosen death, rather than give T’Challa the satisfaction.

Erik can’t forgive. Maybe he was born a little broken, or maybe he forgot how somewhere along the way. When T’Chaka killed his father, he didn’t forgive. When he watched his friends shot down on the streets, victims of a violence that permeated his entire goddamn country, he didn’t forgive. He got angry, and he fought back, and he clawed his way out of it with his own two hands.

But he never forgave. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than Killmonger. He wonders if Bucky knows how to be anything other than the Winter Soldier. If you can ever really leave that behind.

He doesn’t think so. Bucky is a man haunted too.

He’s feeling healthier, stronger. Tomorrow, he says, he wants to leave. Bucky nods. Maybe he’ll try and stop him. Maybe it’s a trap, maybe T’Challa is waiting outside to capture him. It’s why he’s waited, biding his time, let his strength build. Tomorrow, nothing will stand in his way.

Today, he sits and watches Bucky sharpen his knives for the hundredth time.

“Don’t you have any hobbies? Books, TV, cross stitch?” Erik asks, dropping down to sit in front of him. He reaches out, takes the knife. Bucky lets him, watching curiously as he tests its balance. He runs his finger lightly along the blade, twirls it a bit.

It’s a good knife.

“Hobbies…?” Bucky asks. “Like… what?”

“I just said. You don’t… do anything else? You just sit here and sharpen your knives and look out the windows with that little furrow to your brow? All day?” Even Erik, who has dedicated his entire life to revenge, knows the importance of a good hobby. He likes to immerse himself in culture, read poetry, old books- and new. Whatever he can get his hands on, really. He misses his Netflix account. He even kind of misses MIT, in a weird way. At least he wasn’t fucking bored.

Bucky blinks at him. “What else would I do? I already read my books.” He points to a little pile near the cot, one Erik’s thumbed through before. They’re all Xhosa primers and encyclopedias. Recon material, if Erik knows what Bucky used them for. He devoured the information, filed it away for later use, and put the books down.

“Nah, that’s not what I mean. Those books… there’s no joy in them, you know? You ain’t reading them just because you want to. You’re reading them for a purpose.”

“Why else would I read them?”

“Because you want to. Because they make you happy, or they distract you, or they make you feel good. Hobbies keep you from going crazy. You never played cards in the war? Never shot the shit with your squad?”

Bucky gives a little shudder, one Erik’s started to recognize. He does it every time he’s trying to pull at a memory that’s not so clear, trying to form those little emotional connections he needs so bad.

“I used to dance,” Bucky says eventually, a soft wonder in his voice.

“Why don’t you anymore?”

Bucky frowns.

“I don’t know.”

And Erik drops it. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't usually write this much in a single day but i'm sick and i'm feeling it sooo.
> 
> plot will kick off in full next chapter. the whole fic isnt going to be two dudes chilling in a hut for 40k words i promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning animal death in this one (nothing too graphic, no pets die)

**Erik**

 

The next day, Erik tries to leave. He makes it quiet, early morning, but when he slowly rises from the bed, Bucky’s already awake.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” The only answer he gets is a kind of shrug. The Winter Soldier is posted up by the door, back against the wall, knife in his hand. The fingers twitch, tapping lightly against the handle.

“That for me?” Erik asks. Bucky shakes his head.

“For anyone who tries to get in,” he explains, grip tightening. The silver glints dangerous in the dim light. Erik’s mouth presses together. He takes it easy, walks slowly over to Bucky, and crouches down in front of him.

He holds his hand out. Bucky stares at it, and then places the knife in it, gently. Erik slides it into his boot, and then holds his hand out again.

Bucky blinks. Doesn’t move.

“I’m going for a walk. You gonna join me or sit here all morning?”

Bucky takes his hand. Erik straightens, pulling the other man up with him. He’s heavy, all muscle and tension. Erik kind of wonders when the last time anyone touched the guy was. Maybe when he lost that arm.

“You were trying to sneak out,” Bucky notes as they exit the hut to fresh, cold morning air. Erik rolls his shoulders, eager to stretch now that he’s free from the cage. He gives Bucky a challenging grin over his shoulder.

“Maybe. Were you gonna stop me?”

“No. Just wondering why you thought you needed to sneak.”

Erik snorts. “Because I figured you were gonna stop me.” The response gets a reaction from Bucky, close-mouthed frustration and brows furrowing again. Seems to be one of the only emotions the guy can feel.

“I’m not your babysitter,” Bucky says. 

“Maybe not. But I’m starting to wonder what exactly you  _ are,  _ if you're not babysitting me. What’s your aim?” Days spent in that tiny hut with the guy, and he still doesn’t get him. If Erik’s his mission, it’s a fucking obtuse one. If he’s Bucky’s new pet project he’s doing a piss poor job.

The question seems to confuse Bucky. He stops walking, frowning deeply. 

Finally, he speaks. 

“Seems like… you could use someone on your side.” 

And that? That pisses Erik off. He turns, advancing on Bucky, and shoves him hard in the chest. For a second there’s a moment of resistance, and it feels like pushing a mountain… but then Bucky tilts his head a little, showing the barest flash of his throat, and the resistance fades. 

Erik slams him hard against the outer wall of the hut, pressing his forearm to Bucky’s neck with a snarl. He gets in his face, so close their noses almost touch. 

Bucky doesn’t fight it.

“My  _ side _ ? What the fuck you know about my  _ side _ ? You wanna be my savior? The Winter Soldier, T’Challa’s little pet, rescuing big bad Killmonger from himself? You think they’ll welcome you here if you do? Think you’ll actually belong somewhere? You want a collar and a nice place at the foot of the royal bed?”

Erik can feel a little shiver run down Bucky’s spine. Bucky presses his hand flat to the wall of the hut, stance shifting a little, muscles slack. Erik gets the feeling that, if he wanted to, he could kill the Soldier right here.

He gets the feeling that, maybe, that’s kinda what Bucky wants.

The anger fades away quick as that, and he steps back, reeling himself in. Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long while, though he does rub gently at the bruises already appearing on his pale throat.

“I don’t wanna be anyone’s savior,” Bucky says eventually. His voice is a little raw. He has to cough to clear his throat, looking up through dark lashes at Erik.

He looks sad. Erik doesn’t know how to deal with sad, so he ignores it.

“What do you want to be, then?” 

Bucky makes a helpless little shrug, letting a breath out hard through his nostrils.

“Honestly… I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanna be. I don’t know what I can be, anymore. I just… am. Here, I mean. I don’t have a mission anymore. I don’t know how to…” Bucky swallows hard, looks away. A little bit of red dances on his cheeks.

Then he looks back, and Erik recognizes what he sees in Bucky’s eyes. Same look he saw in Oakland. Same look he saw in warzones. Same look he used to see in his own eyes, before anger took it all over.

Loneliness. Desperation.

“I need a mission,” Bucky says quietly into the air between them.   

And like that, something clicks. It’s like the sun is rising all over again, washing everything in light. Making it all clear.

Bucky’s given him a gift, with those four words. He’s given Erik one of the most dangerous assassins in the world.

Bucky’s given him the Winter Soldier. It’s clear, now, what the guy wants. What Erik can use him for. 

He wants a mission, and Erik can give him one. He wants to feel useful, maybe he misses the feel of a gun in his hands. Whatever it is, Erik knows same as he knows the sun will set tonight, if he gives Bucky that mission, he’ll have his loyalty. 

There’s a twinge of something unfamiliar in the pit of his stomach, when he thinks about sending this broken thing out to destroy in his name. Some tiny bit of sadness, a voice in the back of his head that says he’s lost.

“...C’mon.” He gestures for Bucky to follow, and he starts walking again. He doesn’t have to look back to know Bucky’s trudging behind. He can hear his boots in the grass, feel his eyes on the back of his neck.

He leads them away from the village.

 

***

**Bucky**

Bucky follows, because he isn’t sure what else to do. He’s read all the books in the hut, explored the village, taught Shuri how to fight… but none of it feels like a mission. None of it gives his life purpose.

_ Take it easy _ , Shuri said to him when he last asked. But the feeling doesn’t go away no matter how much he tries to lie motionless in the hut and stop thinking. He can’t take it easy. Relaxing isn’t a thing he can do anymore. 

He used to relax a lot. He used to have fun. He used to dance. 

That guy’s dead and gone, though. Maybe his body would remember how… but there’s no joy in it anymore. No joy in anything, really.

Bucky’s not really sure he remembers what joy is. He thinks that’s what it was when he heard Steve’s voice through the haze, heard his name for the first time in 70 years. But if that’s joy, then it hurts.

He follows Killmonger away from the village. There’s something soothing about following orders, when he knows he has a choice. He’s never had a problem with following. Steve, the army, whoever needed him to be whatever they needed him to be. It was the brainwashing, the erasing, the destruction of his very self and everything he loved- that’s the part he took issue with.

But without orders, without a mission… his life had become four walls in Bucharest, and then a tiny hut by the water in Wakanda. 

“Hey! Over here, c’mon.” Killmonger’s voice shakes him out of his thoughts. They’re far from the village now, out on the open savanna. Golden grass sways in the light breeze, and brightly colored kingfishers perch in the flat-topped acacia trees. It’s dry season in Wakanda, and Bucky can see off in the distance a family of elephants gathered around a fallen baobab trunk.

He hasn’t seen this much color and warmth since a brightly-lit Paris night in 1943. Surrounded by gold, with a bright blue sky above him… 

Killmonger’s crouched down in the grass ahead of him, examining something with an intense look on his face. As Bucky approaches, he can see some sort of lump at Killmonger’s feet and for a second he thinks he’s hunted something.

But then he gets closer, and Bucky knows this thing has been dead for days, and that there is something Wrong about it.

It’s hard to look at, at first. Like the inky carcass doesn’t want to be seen, or his eyes keep wanting to look past it to the nonexistent space beyond. Like staring into a void.

Killmonger takes the hunting knife (Bucky’s) from his boot, and uses it to touch the body, spreading it out more. Bucky focuses hard, ignoring the urge to ignore it, and crouches down next to Killmonger to see.

He thinks it’s some sort of gazelle, though the face and body are wrong. It has the general shape of what a gazelle should be, but none of the details right. Like something put the animal together without reading its IKEA manual. Bleached ribs poke out from the mottled fur of its torso like spikes.

Killmonger turns to him, expression grim, and parts his lips-

There’s no time to say anything. They both straighten at the same time. It starts as a rumbling, then a shaking, then a thunderous cloud.

He dives to the side as the first rhino charges, until he’s lost in a sea of grey and Killmonger’s nowhere in sight.

A stampede. 

 

***

**Erik**

A fucking stampede. He’s never seen one before, except when he was a kid watching the Lion King, but he’s been in riots, been in crowds of panicked people. There have to be near a hundred of the things. His body reacts before he can think, bolting out of the way of the wild herd. They’re everywhere now, and instinct tells him to find Bucky. Don’t get separated, don’t get killed. The power of the Black Panther thrums through his veins as he darts under and over the rampaging beasts, calling out Bucky’s name.

He sees him ahead, and grabs him by the shoulder hard, pulling him free of the throng. The guy’s eyes are wide and alert, whole body tense. He can relate.

Erik’s almost about to ask Bucky if he’s alright, but Bucky speaks before he can.

“They’re headed for the village.”

_ Why should I care?  _ is Erik’s first thought, followed by:  _ They’ve done nothing for me _ .  _ Let them die. _

He’s even gonna say it too, explain exactly what their priorities are around here. Opens his mouth and everything- but the look on Bucky’s face shuts him up.

Ah, fuck.

“What, what do you expect me to do about it? You can’t fight  _ nature _ ,” he says instead, because Bucky definitely looks like he wants to do something about it. “You go back in there, you just die. And the village gets trampled anyway.”

The idiot shakes his head. “We can drive them away. We just have to get ahead of them. Turn the herd, they’ll all follow.”

“They teach rhino herding tactics in Russian Assassin school or you google that on your own? How do you know that’s even gonna work?”

“It’ll work.”

So that’s what they do, though Erik thinks it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. He fell off a cliff and lived, and he’s got that necklace round his neck. So sure, why the fuck not. 

They take either side of the herd, sprinting to catch up to it. It’s easier than he thought it would be, like his body’s built for this kind of speed, this kind of strength. He feels fucking unstoppable as he reaches the head.

He can see fear in the rhinos’ eyes, mouths wide and practically frothing. And something else, too, red veins like lightning spread across the grey skin. 

There’s no time to look closer. He jumps, grabbing the nearest beast’s horn, and swings himself onto its back. Across the herd, he can see Bucky do the same thing one-handed. Like riding a bike.

As one, they turn their rhinos hard to the left, gripping on the horn and forcing their heads. There’s resistance, and Erik has to dig his heels in deep to stay mounted as he makes the rhino listen, but he holds tight. Eventually it has to obey or break its own neck, so left it goes, and the whole herd goes with it, Bucky leading the new charge from across the group.

Their eyes meet. Erik nods at him, and then they both hop off, tumbling to the golden grass as the rhinos rush past them.

Erik catches his breath as he stares up at the cloudless sky. He spreads his arms out, and lets out a loud laugh, throwing his head back to the ground.

If N’Jobu could see him now. Bet he never thought his little boy would get to ride a rhino down the Wakandan savanna.

Footsteps in the dirt near him. A shadow blocks the sun, and he squints up at the hand Bucky’s got offered to him.

...He takes it, letting Bucky help pull him back to his feet. He can’t help it, he’s grinning a little as he watches the herd stampede away.

There’s a soft smile on Bucky’s lips too, but it fades fast. He’s staring at the departing herd.

“They’re heading for the cliff,” says Bucky, who seems to like to ruin Erik’s good moods every chance he gets, because they  _ are  _ heading for the cliff. 

“They’ll stop. They’re not stupid,” says Erik. “If they don’t stop… natural selection.”

Erik and Bucky watch grimly  as the stampede continues, no signs of letting up. They’re just specks of red and grey now, and then Erik can’t see anything at all through the cloud of dust. Instead, he hears it as the first one falls: a great, terrible wail. Soon, the air is filled with the sounds of them.

Then silence falls, and all is still.

Somehow, Erik doesn’t think it’s because of natural selection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i told you there'd be plot (but thanks for everyone who said they'd read it if it was 2 dudes in a hut for the whole story, too)
> 
> thank you so much for all the comments and hits, by the way! the reception to this fic has been amazing so far and i'm reading and loving every single one! 
> 
> you can follow me on twitter @thebuckypit where i post mostly abt marvel characters' excellent tiddies (lookin at u steve and erik)


	5. Chapter 5

**Bucky**

They return to the hut, because there’s nowhere else to go. Killmonger is silent beside him, something calculating in his expression. Bucky, meanwhile, just presses a hand to his side and tries to ignore the blood slowly oozing from the wound. It happened while they were separated. He was careless. One of the rhinos wasn’t.

He’s not sure how bad it is. He’ll look at it when they get back to the hut, assess the damage. See exactly how fucked he is. He doesn’t want Killmonger to know. It’s all he can do to keep the man from smelling the blood in the water.

Fate fixes the problem for him, gives them both something else to worry about, because when they make it back to the hut, they’re not alone. Shuri stands there in the doorway, head poking into the hut. When she hears them approach, she turns and smiles bright, beautiful.

It doesn’t last. She sees Killmonger, and the happiness is quickly replaced by shock, and then anger. Her stance changes, fists coming up in front of her. There’s something big and silver in one of her hands, and she points it angrily at Killmonger.

Is that… a new arm? 

Killmonger speaks first,  standing his ground next to Bucky.

“What’s up, princess? Miss me?” 

Bucky has to step between them as Shuri tries to launch herself at him. She barrels into Bucky, and he lets out a grunt, but wraps his arms around her shoulders and holds her still.

“Shuri-,” Bucky says, at the same time Shuri says: “Don’t you know who he is?!”

“Bring it, little girl. You think I can’t handle your pampered preteen ass?” Killmonger really needs to learn when  _ not  _ to be antagonistic, or Bucky will be standing between him and a lot of angry people. Shuri takes a deep breath, and steps away from Bucky, fists clenched. 

“Ok. I think we need to talk, Bucky,” says Shuri, very calmly, but her gaze doesn’t leave Killmonger. 

“She’s sixteen. Not a preteen,” Bucky says to Killmonger. “Ok,” he says to Shuri. And they walk into the hut. Killmonger attempts to follow them in, but Shuri points the silver arm at him again. 

“ _ Not  _ you.”

“I’m just gonna hear what you’re saying anyways, princess. But whatever makes you feel better.” Killmonger raises his hands in a gesture of peace, and then drops to sit down outside the hut, back to the wall.

Bucky gives him a lingering glance, and then closes the blanket covering the doorway behind them.

He lowers himself, very slowly and carefully, to the pillows strewn on the floor. Shuri sits down on the bed, sets the arm next to her, and wrings her hands.

She speaks first.

“You know, Mr. Barnes, when I suggested you get some hobbies or a pet, I did not mean adopt Erik Killmonger and hide him under your bed.” 

Bucky blinks, brows furrowing together. “I didn’t adopt him…”

“That’s not the point! What is he  _ doing  _ here? He should be dead.”

“So should I,” says Bucky, very softly. “But someone found me. And I found him. Was I supposed to leave him?”

“Yes! You do not know what he is capable of, Bucky. But I have seen it. He can’t be trusted. He nearly  _ killed  _ T’Challa.”

But that doesn’t really make a lot of sense. “I nearly killed Steve. A lot of times. I would have killed T’Challa if he hurt Steve. That’s just… how it is with us.”

Shuri softens. She slides off the bed to kneel in front of Bucky, and places a soft hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t know what you were doing. He did.”

“I still did it. Does it really matter why? I’ve got just as much blood on my hands as he does.” Bucky looks down at his hands, which are indeed covered in blood. Shuri gasps, and then sits back, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

“What happened?” she asks, so Bucky tells her about the stampede, about getting gored by a rhino. There’s a thump from outside the hut, and then Killmonger storms in, looking pissed.

“You were hurt? The fuck, why didn’t you tell me?” he demands. Shuri gets to her feet, tries to stand between them.

“You do not get to yell at him, Killmonger.”

“Get the fuck out of my way, little girl. I ain’t above a little casual cousin murder.”

It looks like they’re about to come to blows again. Bucky gets slowly to his feet, groaning, and gives them both a look. “How about no one murder anyone? That sound good?” Only he sways a little as he says it, can’t keep his balance. Killmonger pushes Shuri out of the way, comes to his side. Grips his arm, and holds him up. He lets out a soft breath and leans his weight against Killmonger’s strong frame. 

Shuri stares at them both for a very long moment, and then she sits back down on the bed. “I do not know what you are doing here, Killmonger, but you lost. You should be locked up for what you did.”

Killmonger snorts. “Good luck with that. Think you can get handcuffs on me all by your lonesome?” His hand comes to rest on the back of Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s eyelids flutter, just a little. 

“Shuri… I’ll take responsibility for him,” Bucky says. He knows what it means, and he knows he doesn’t really have a right to ask for it… but what other option do they have? Killmonger will kill Shuri, and Bucky is too hurt to stop it. And then… Killmonger will leave, and Bucky will be alone again.

Killmonger snorts, but wisely says nothing. Maybe he knows Bucky can’t really make him do anything. Maybe he realizes how precarious this situation is.

Maybe he doesn’t really want to be forced to kill a sixteen year old girl to keep himself safe. 

Shuri lets out a long, exaggerated groan. “Men! You make everything so complicated! You listen to me, Killmonger. You lost. You can’t do anything to destabilize Wakanda anymore. No one will stand by your side anymore. Even the Jabari stand against you. Do you understand?”

Killmonger sneers, but he nods very slowly. “I know I lost.  Don’t you worry your fancy little head about it, princess, I’ll be a good dog. Long as you stay out my way.”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “Do you know how to talk to someone without pissing them off? Who raised you, a pack of wolves?? No, don’t answer that. And you ruined my big surprise!” She gestures to the silver arm beside her. 

Bucky gives her a smile, and slowly pulls away from Killmonger. He stumbles over to the bed, and drops heavily down on it beside her. “That for me, ma’am?”

“No, I thought I might give myself three arms and super strength. Of course it’s for you, oaf! You could have had it sooner, but you were getting gored by a rhinoceros, apparently.” 

The tension in the room slowly eases away. It helps that Killmonger is staying out of the way, and only making antagonistic comments every once in a while instead of every chance he gets. Shuri connects the arm to Bucky’s shoulder, and walks him through a few exercises. It feels good… lighter than the old arm, whisper quiet and strong. 

Made of Vibranium, Shuri says. No Iron Man will be able to blast this one off. Plus, she added a few upgrades to it. Built in Kimoyo bead support. Automatic first aid dispersal and painkillers he can activate when necessary. 

It’s strong. Powerful.

She tries to help him with his side, but he shies away. “It’ll heal on its own,” he assures her. She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. She’s good about that, respecting Bucky’s boundaries.

The truth is, he just really doesn’t like being touched more than he has to. And the stomach’s a vulnerable area. He’d rather avoid it, all things said.

When they’re done, Shuri stands in the doorway, staring in concern at Killmonger. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Mr. Barnes. Please don’t trust him.” 

Then she leaves, and they’re alone once more.

 

***

**Erik**

“She’s gonna tell her brother,” Erik says soon as she takes off in her cute little jet. 

“Yeah… she probably is. So what’re you gonna do about it?” Bucky sits on his little cot, slowly flexing his new arm. His side keeps steadily oozing blood, but he doesn’t seem to even notice. Not for the first time, Erik wonders if there’s something seriously wrong with the guy, on some kind of fundamental level.

“...” Erik thinks about it. He could’ve killed her. Might’ve made his life easier… but when he saw the way she spoke to Bucky, it was hard to want to hurt a little girl who could be kind to something broken. He would’ve done it if he had to… but he wouldn’t have enjoyed it.

So what will he do? T’Challa will come. It’s only a matter of time. Will he lock him up? Will he kill him? 

… Where else could Erik go? Back to America? Ross has probably burned him by now. There’s no life left for him back there. No life in Wakanda. 

So what the fuck is he gonna do about it? Kill T’Challa when he comes? He lost. Maybe if Bucky helped too, but…

“Fuck,” Erik says. “Man, what’re  _ you _ gonna do? You’re really gonna let yourself bleed all over the floor?”

Bucky lowers his gaze, stares down at the wound. “...It’ll heal.”

“Maybe, but you’re gonna ruin your sheets. And the blankets. And the curtains. And your shoes. C’mere.” Erik sits down on the ground in a pile of pillows, and gestures for Bucky to join him. 

“...I’ll ruin the pillows,” Bucky says, eyebrows all concerned, but he gets up and slowly lowers to sit in front of Erik anyways.

Erik’s stitched himself up plenty of times. Hurt himself more than that, all those little scars. But he’s never helped someone else. He finds himself being gentler as he reaches out to peel the cloth fully away from Bucky’s chest. He gets a little tub of water, soaks a towel, and slowly wipes the sticky red from Bucky’s lily-white skin. 

“You gotta get outside more,” he murmurs into the silence between them, because he’s not sure what else to say. Bucky stares at him, expression unreadable, and then says: “Last time I went out, I got gored by a rhino.”

Erik laughs softly, and finishes cleaning the wound. “Why didn’t you let Shuri help you? She could’ve done this better than I can.”

Bucky shrugs, looks away and out the window. The sun’s getting low on the horizon now, but they can’t really see the sunset from here. Still, it casts warm shadows on Bucky’s face.

He looks down at the ground, at Erik’s hands on his side, and Bucky says softly, “I don’t like… being touched.”

“Why not? You don’t seem to mind too much right now.” 

“...Docs in HYDRA used to heal me up all the time. Whenever I got too hurt… and I got hurt a lot. But I was just… an object to them. A weapon. It was like… oiling your gun, you know? Regular maintenance. They never even used anesthetic. Back then… I didn’t used to feel anything.”

Bucky sighs, eyes closing slowly. “Doctors don’t want you to have feelings. All they see is a body to fix. I… hate it.” 

“Could be wrong… but didn’t seem too much like Shuri saw just a body.” 

Bucky’s lips twitch up a little at Shuri’s name. “Yeah, she’s a good kid. She reminds me of Rebecca… but I’m still just a science experiment to her, too. No matter what else I am, to everyone here I’m just another project.” 

Erik feels a pang of anger, which is weird, because he hasn’t been angry for anyone specific but himself in a long time. Sure, anger at the world for injustice, but… he’s not really used to experiencing sympathy for other people anymore. 

He doesn’t like it. It kind of hurts, makes his heart feel all twisted up in his chest. 

“Huh,” he says, because he has no idea what else to say. For a long time he cleans Bucky in silence, then stitches Bucky in silence, and Bucky doesn’t say anything back.

When he’s finally done, he pulls away slowly, and ignores that he kind of misses the warm feel of Bucky’s skin under his hands.

Fuck, what’s  _ wrong  _ with him?

“...Thank you,” Bucky says, fingers dancing over the stitches. Erik slaps his hand away, gently.

“Man, careful! You’re gonna rip them right out again, asshole. And I ain’t stitching you back up a second time.”

Bucky laughs, apologizes. “They’re neater than I usually do,” he admits. Erik shrugs.

“I got experience with this kinda stuff.” He gestures to the scars running all up his arms. “Gotta have steady hands.” 

Fingers dance across the scars as Bucky reaches out, then looks a little shocked, like he didn’t mean to touch him. Erik holds perfectly still, afraid if he moves Bucky will pull away, and… he doesn’t really want that.

After a tense moment, Bucky slides his fingers over Erik’s wrist. 

“What’re they for?”

“Kills.”

“Why?”

Erik shrugs, lets out a soft shuddering breath as Bucky’s hand runs up his arm, under the sleeve of his shirt. 

“To fuck with people. Make ‘em scared. Throw them off.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Bucky says quietly. 

“You probably should be,” Erik replies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> erik "what are feelings" killmonger & bucky "startled by kindness" barnes folks


	6. Chapter 6

**Erik**

His body is sleek and smooth, sinewy muscle hidden behind spotted fur as he prowls the plains. Above, the sky ripples like an uncertain sea, swirls of kaleidoscope colors dripping down onto the horizon. The distant cry of a creature in pain echoes through the air with the smell of blood.

_ You are not lost yet, my son. _

Words whispered on the wind. He knows, if he turns back, he will see her.

Instead, he lowers his head and walks further into the darkness.

 

***

Erik opens his eyes to bright sunlight and an empty hut. He rises slowly from the small bed, rubbing sore muscles, and exits into the morning sun.

He could leave, he knows, but… he doesn’t want to leave without a plan, and that’s one thing he doesn’t have yet. 

That, and he doesn’t want to leave without Bucky, either. If nothing else, the man would be a useful tool. 

He knows he’s killing time he could really use. T’Challa is bound to arrive any day now and arrest him. He should get the fuck out of there, regroup somewhere safer. Find somewhere to hide.

Today, he thinks. He and Bucky will leave. He’s had to go to ground before, he knows how to do it properly. Drop off the grid like a ghost. He thinks the Winter Soldier’s good on that too.

Bucky is outside, sitting in the grass next to the lake. A few children sit by him, one tugging on locks of his messy hair to force it into braids. The man is completely still like a statue as they laugh and gather around him.

When they see Erik approach, their eyes grow wide, and they scatter off into the village like rabbits.

“Your hair looks stupid,” Erik says as he drops down to sit next to Bucky, reaching out and tugging at one of the braids. To his surprise, Bucky just laughs.

“Shoulda seen it when I was young. Looked like a rat’s nest.” He shakes his hair out, loosening the braids. The brown falls in soft waves around his face.

“You gonna cut it?”

Bucky blinks at him. “Why would I?”

Erik shrugs. “Gives your enemies something to grab in a fight.”

Bucky shrugs. He rummages around in his pocket, pulls out a little tie, and tugs his hair up into a knot at the base of his neck. He raises an eyebrow, gives Erik a grin. “Better?”

Erik scowls. “Doesn’t really matter to me.” But he has to admit it’s a Look, and not really one he minds either.

Seeing Bucky’s face… he’s a pretty handsome guy, Erik figures. More handsome when he smiles. And when he’s nice to kids. 

The smile fades. Bucky’s staring at him intensely now. It’s a little disconcerting, so Erik reaches out and puts his hand in Bucky’s face, pushing him away. “Man, cut that out.”

Bucky lets him. He turns his gaze out to the water instead, draws his knees up to his chest.

“You have to leave,” he says quietly. 

“Today,” Erik agrees. “So you better get packed.” He could ask Bucky to join, but he figures orders will go over better. And he can’t afford to look weak, or even particularly nice. Bucky’s coming with him whether he wants to or not.

“...” Bucky is staring at him now, eyes wide. He looks kind of lost. It pisses Erik off, but he just scoffs and swipes at his chin, doesn’t take it back.

“Why?”

Erik doesn’t want to think about that question too much. He’s got a lot of reasons. Bucky is the Winter Soldier, and that’s useful for him. But he also kind of likes having the company, and especially company that knows when to shut the fuck up, and doesn’t really judge. But that’s stupid. Loneliness ain’t a great reason.

“You happy here? Really?” he asks instead, turns it back on Bucky. That’s safer… because if he’s right, that look in Bucky’s eyes says he wants to come. 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. He’s silent for seconds that feel like minutes, before he shifts a little, lets out a soft huff of breath. 

“...Happy? What’s that got to do with anything?”

The sad part is, Erik doesn’t really know either. And he’s not prepared to explain it to someone else, when he’s still figuring that part out for himself. 

“...You gonna come or not?” He runs a hand over his forearm, idly counting the bumps as he waits for an answer. He’s got to add a few more, new kills. He’s not sure if he wants to anymore.

“...Tomorrow,” Bucky says. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

Erik ignores the little stab of triumph, relief, and other things he hasn’t experienced enough to know how to name.

Tomorrow.

 

***

**Bucky**

Bucky would have stayed in that little hut for days, months, years, until Steve came and collected him and told him there was something new to fight. He would have sat there waiting for a mission the same way he used to sit motionless for weeks on stakeout in countries across the world. Frozen.

And he should stay. Shuri might need him. T’Challa might need him.

But they didn’t. Not when T’Challa died. Not to fight Killmonger. They handled it on their own, because of course they did, because Shuri was a genius and T’Challa was the best fighter he’d ever met. And they had friends and family to help them when they needed it. 

Bucky’s a remnant of a dead world, and all his masters are dead or gone. He thought maybe Steve could do it for him… but Steve wanted a friend, and Bucky wanted a mission. He couldn’t do it to him, couldn’t ask that of him.

Killmonger… Erik.

He doesn’t know what the mission is, but Erik’s offering it. And he can’t help it, though he wishes it weren’t this way… he wants that. He misses it.

So he’ll leave, if Erik asks him to. 

They spend the rest of that day in the village, because there’s no longer any need to hide. The place is decorated in vibrant colors, banners waving in the light breeze as they walk in. Bast’s face is painted on the flags and pinions that adorn the buildings, and it looks like there’s something going on in the village square, preparations for some great feast. 

They go to the fruit stand, where N’Neka takes one look at Erik, tells him his spirit’s disconnected, and gives him a banana.

“The fuck’s this supposed to do for it?” Erik asks, angry, scowling. But N’Neka just gives him a look. 

“Nothing,” she says. “They’re just good bananas.” 

Before they leave, N’Neka pulls Bucky to the side, a weathered hand on his elbow. She frowns, slides a plum into his hand. 

“You are always welcome here, our White Wolf.” And then she lets him go, and he can’t help but feel like she knows it’s goodbye.

Erik’s tense, tenser whenever anyone approaches them like he’s expecting a fight, expecting someone to tell him to leave. No one does, even if he gets a few dirty looks. 

Maybe the story of what he did hasn’t spread out to the villages yet. Maybe they don’t know his face. Maybe they don’t care.

They don’t stay long. Bucky can tell when a situation is headed south, and Erik’s only getting more antagonistic the more people they meet. Bucky takes them home before anything can happen. The moment they’re away from the public and settling down in that little hut, all the tension seeps from Erik’s shoulders.

He slides slowly down to the ground, back to the rounded wall, and closes his eyes.

Bucky goes and sits down beside him.

“No one arrested you,” he says first, because it’s something. He wonders if Erik’s even technically a criminal here. Far as he knows, everything was done in ritual combat. And T’Challa hasn’t come yet… though he still might.

Erik snorts, scratches the back of his neck. “I’d like to see any of them try.” 

It’s a good point. But Bucky still kind of thinks N’Neka could kick his ass, and so probably Erik’s too.

“Are… you… ok?” It’s kind of a weird question. He’s not used to asking it, or worrying about it. But Erik seems upset, and also kind of not ok. Bucky just… wants to know if there’s anything he can do about it.

Erik kind of laughs, but kind of doesn’t. It’s like a snort and a shrug and a scowl all in one.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, which makes Bucky worry a little bit. But he just sits there, in silence, shoulder pressed to Erik’s, and waits. 

They stay like that until the sun sets, two quiet sentinels. No one bothers them, nothing happens. Bucky falls asleep, head dropping to Erik’s shoulder.

 

***

**Erik**

_ Do not turn from me, child of Bast _ , says a voice that whispers over his bare shoulders as he sits up in the white sand. He blinks his eyes slowly, narrowing them into the brilliant watercolor sky, and looks around.

There’s nothing there.

“I’m not the one that’s turned!” he yells, or tries to, but his voice won’t come. He tries to shout, to speak, even to whisper, but there is nothing.

A dark shadow darts out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head quickly, trying to track it. 

Nothing.

_ You must listen _ , says the voice.  _ Listen, do not speak _ .

A sound, reedy and thin, pathetic. Some dying beast he can’t see, wheezing with the effort of breath, of noise. He can smell the river, water grass, hear the roaring of a waterfall and the echo of a cave. 

_ Something cruel and wicked comes to our Wakanda, child of Bast. Karkadann, the Great Rhinoceros, has fallen.   _ Echoes of the wails, flesh hitting rocks, the stamping of a hundred beasts.

_ Seek out Ammit.  _

_ You must _ .

And then Erik wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shuri comes back in the next chapter and oh boy does she have some Stuff to deal with


	7. Chapter 7

**Erik**

Man, what the fuck. Now even his dreams are trying to tell him what to do. Well, they, like everyone else who has ever tried to give him an order, can go fuck off. Even when he was still in the CIA, getting those kill orders from nameless men… he’d quietly put them on the list too, after he’d achieved everything he needed to.

He has no intention to serve  _ anyone _ .

There’s a heavy weight on his left side, warmth and-

He blinks blearily, but the sight doesn’t go away. Bucky’s head is resting on his shoulder and he’s practically slumped right up against him, sleeping quietly. Erik freezes. 

He wants to move. He’s going to move. He’ll push Bucky off, maybe yell at him a little bit… but when was the last time anyone touched him without fear? Hell, even Linda had been half-frightened by him. He always figured that’s what she liked about him. If she liked anything at all.

… He doesn’t move. He lets out a slow breath and forces his body steady, closing his eyes again, and just thinks.

Shit’s getting messy. Shit’s getting real complicated. Erik doesn’t mind complicated, lives comfortably in the area behind confusion and distraction that complicated makes, but that doesn’t make it any easier when he’s not the cause of the messiness. He thrives on being the only messy person in the room, and frankly he doesn’t really appreciate anyone stealing that thunder.

He needs to make a plan.

They’re gonna leave today. He can’t think when he’s surrounded by so many people. He can almost hear the bustling of the village. He needs to get out.

He’s got a few safe houses around he’s pretty sure haven’t been compromised yet. He’d set them up before that bid to become king, just in case… Erik usually has about five different backup plans, in case everything goes completely to shit. In his experience, things go to shit about half the time, no matter how well you plan. You have to become comfortable in the chaos. 

He opens his eyes again when he feels a shadow blocking the sun streaming in through the little window. Shuri stands over him, expression half bewilderment, half knowing.

She drops a bag down in Erik’s lap. Silently and suddenly, Bucky awakens beside him and straightens. There’s no sleep in his eyes, no grogginess. Like flicking on a light, the Winter Soldier is there, straightening.

“I won’t even ask,” Shuri says, looking like she really wants to ask. “I’m here on business.”

Bucky speaks first, while Erik is still standing, slowly stretching, shaking sleep from his muscles. 

“What’s wrong?”

Shuri gives Erik a Look, arms folded over her chest, but eventually lets out a low groan and rolls her eyes. “Can’t you take a hint, Killmonger? Get out!”

Erik shakes his head, grinning at her. “Sorry, princess. Besides, he’ll just end up telling me after you’ve left.”

They both look over at Bucky, who frowns… and then shrugs. “It’s true.”

“Ugh! Fine, let a traitor stay while we discuss the future of Wakanda, why not?  _ I’m _ not Black Panther, should have made me queen if they wanted to keep national secrets safe.” She throws her hands up in the air, and then shakes her head, dropping down to sit in the pile of pillows. After a second, she pulls one of them to her chest, hugging it.

Bucky just pauses, eyebrows doing this little wiggly thing that Erik thinks means he’s confused, and asks: “The future of Wakanda? ...With me?”

Shuri gives him a patient and caring look that also somehow expresses the phrase, ‘Oh, you sweet sweet idiot.’

“My brother has gone to the plains. Bast visited him in a dream. This is the first strange thing, since Bast usually only speaks to the High Priest… but with Zuri dead, I suppose she’s making do.” Shuri gives Erik a look of hurt and fury at the mention of Zuri’s death. He doesn’t really feel anything from it, except a twinge of righteousness. Served Uncle James right for betraying them like that.

“The second strange thing,” Shuri continues, “is that Wakanda’s wildlife is going straight up crazy.” She widens her eyes for emphasis, spreading her hands.

Erik shoots Bucky a look he returns. They know a little about that.

“I do not know what’s wrong. I am a technological genius, but I am not a biologist! Stampedes, strange deaths… animals showing up where they shouldn’t be, and disappearing where they should be. And some of them are just… wrong.”

“Like they’re corrupted, right?” Erik says from his spot near the wall. Shuri narrows her eyes. 

“You would recognize corruption, Killmonger.”

That’s fair. He lets the insult slide off his back like water. “Those rhinos we drove away from the village. Some of them looked pretty fucked up.”

Shuri narrows her eyes. “You did not think to mention this the last time?”

“Didn’t ask. Besides, you were too busy yelling at me.” Erik knows that’s not really how it happened but he’s always been a fan of controlling the narrative, and Shuri looks too indignant to actually say anything against it. He’s banking on her being smart enough to let it go… and she does. 

She waves him off, and turns to Bucky. “We need your help, Mr. Barnes. I hate to ask, but-”

Bucky doesn’t even let her finish, he just immediately straightens up and smiles at her and says: “What do you need?”

 

***

**Bucky**

A mission. Shuri is giving him a mission. Shuri needs his help. It’s more than he could ever ask for, and he almost wants to pick her up and twirl her around, kiss both her cheeks. He doesn’t, because that would be weird, and because it’s kind of a strange urge. He isn’t used to being human yet, even if he no longer blacks out and murders a bunch of people. 

Erik looks ruffled beside him, like a cat cheated out of a bowl of milk. Funnily enough, he’s the first to speak, moving between Bucky and Shuri before she can even brief him.

“What, you can’t handle your own country? Gotta ask a white boy for help?” Erik asks angrily, and Bucky knows he doesn’t really mean the white boy comment. It’s not that, because Erik asked him for help too, and he was gonna give it.

So he has to wonder why Erik’s really angry. 

“He’s leaving with me. Today.” Erik states it like no one’s allowed to argue, and Bucky realizes. Oh.

He made a promise. He doesn’t like breaking his promise. And he promised he would leave with Erik.

Today.

“I am sorry, but I do not see your name anywhere on him, Killmonger. He is a free agent, and a friend. I am asking a friend for help,” Shuri says, and Bucky’s heart warms a little more. They are friends, he and Shuri. You have to be friends with the girl who saves your life. And she reminds him of his little sisters. And he would still die for her if she asked… and she’s asking.

His head hurts. The last time he was wanted two places at once he nearly killed Nick Fury and destroyed the world. And back then he hadn’t even really had a choice.

He knows what he’s about to ask is going to piss off Erik, but it’s still just a question. It doesn’t mean anything, he just… he has to know.

“What would you need me to do?”

True to form, Erik’s expression darkens even more. He gives Bucky one look, hands clenching into fists… and then he stalks out of the hut.

Shuri watches him go, a little bit of shock in her eyes. 

There’s a long moment of silence. 

“Are the two of you fucking?” Shuri asks after a long enough pause. 

“Language,” Bucky says first, almost automatically. Like she really is his little sister. And then, blinking slowly, he processes the question.

“What? No.”

Shuri folds her arms. “I did not know him for long, except for that time he tried to kill my brother. And that time he tried to kill me. And that time he tried to destroy Wakanda and everything I love. But I got the distinct feelings he didn’t give a shit about anyone, Mr. Barnes. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s worried about you.”

Bucky blinks. Thinks about this a little bit, decides it doesn’t sound right, and shakes his head. “I said I’d help him.” That’s the only reason he can think of to explain Erik’s behavior. Besides, they’ve only known each other a week.

Sure, a week in which Bucky talked more to Erik than he’s talked to anyone since the fall, including Steve. But just a week.

“So you are not fucking?” asks Shuri, eyebrow raised. “I mean, it is ok if you are. It’s not like it matters he is a man, Wakanda doesn’t care about that. It’s just… him? Really??”

“You’re sixteen you’re not allowed to say that,” he says, “even if you are a super genius. I’ll call your mom and she’ll yell at you.” He can’t help keeping the smile out of his words, though, because he remembers having the same kind of conversation with his sisters.

“I said I’d help him,” he repeats. “That’s all.” Bucky doesn’t really know if he’s allowed to sleep with people anymore, anyways. He hasn’t since the fall… hasn’t even thought about it. Had other things on his mind.

Shuri frowns, looking at the door as if she can see Erik through it. “Ok. I mean… even if I hate him very much and I think he is an asshole and an evil man, he is my cousin, so there has to be something to like about him.” Bucky wants to hug her for that, too, because she is already finding a way to forgive Erik for what he did to her, and Bucky thinks she’s the best and strongest and bravest and smartest girl in the entire world and he’s very proud of her.

He doesn’t say any of this, but Shuri glares at him anyways like she can see it in his eyes. 

“In any case. We need your help, Mr. Barnes.” She pauses. “Bucky. Wakanda is still in a very precarious position. We are strong enough to protect ourselves… but not if we do not know what is wrong. You are quite skilled in intelligence gathering, yes?”

Bucky nods. He used to spend weeks collecting information on his targets, months sometimes, before he’d move. He’d been doing it here without even meaning it to, out of habit. He could tell Shuri the life story of anyone in the village, their political power, how they interacted with each other. He could destabilize this village with a carefully chosen assassination if he needed to.

Not that he ever would. Not anymore. He doesn’t do that stuff anymore… but the skills don’t just leave. 

Shuri smiles sadly. “I hate to ask it of you, Bucky, but your skills are unique, and second to none. T’Challa has gone to Sphinx… but if the Great Lion is in trouble, she may not be the only one.”

“Great Lion?” Bucky asks. 

“It comes from old Wakandan stories. I thought they were just fairy tales… Before the five tribes of Wakanda joined together, they all worshipped different gods. And each of those gods had an animal of great power said to roam Wakanda. Pantere, the Great Panther… she was Bast’s. There were four other animals.” Shuri holds up four fingers, counting down each animal. 

“Karkadann, the Great Rhino. Sphinx, the Great Lion. Ghekre, the Great Gorilla. Ammit, the Great Crocodile.”

“When the first Black Panther united the tribes, they all began to worship Bast. Except for the Jabari, who still worship the Gorilla God, Hanuman. The great animals faded into legend… even Pantere is thought to be a myth now.”

“But they’re real,” Bucky says slowly. “And T’Challa is looking for Sphinx right now.”

Shuri nods.

“And you need me… to find the others?”

Shuri gives him a wide smile and lightly punches his shoulder. “See? You are not so stupid. I think the rhinos that rampaged near the village… they might be connected to Karkadann. If so, he may be close. I thought perhaps you could find him.”

It’s not an entirely impossible plan. He’s got plenty of experience tracking too. He’s had to track marks through cities, and animals are a lot less smart about covering their tracks. 

Bucky’s about to open his mouth, ask what happens if he finds the Rhino and it’s dead, when Erik bursts back into the hut.

He looks pissed off, but for some reason it doesn’t seem to be directed at Bucky or Shuri.

“Don’t waste your time. The rhino’s dead,” he says. 

 

***

**Erik**

This is bullshit. This is straight up, grade A bullshit. He doesn’t need this, doesn’t need any of it. Fucking panther goddesses coming to him in his sleep, telling him what to do, giving him stories about Great Animals and mythical mumbo jumbo. He hasn’t believed in fairy tales in a long time, and now some uppity panther has dragged him right back into it.

Bucky blinks at him, but Shuri just looks annoyed. “You were listening to us,” she accuses. He doesn’t even waste time responding. They both know he was.

“You think this shit’s actually real?” he asks. He laughs a little, shakes his head. “You really are just a little girl.” It’s a defense mechanism. He can’t believe that dream meant anything. If it did, it would mean he’s beholden to some god he’s not even sure he believes in. That the power of the Black Panther put him in chains he can’t escape.

He can’t accept it. Fuck.

“I didn’t,” Shuri says, “until animals started rampaging across Wakanda. Besides, is it really so hard to believe? We live in a world of Spider-men, alien invasions, thunder gods, like five hundred furries flying around, weird booty robots destroying countries-”

Bucky frowns at Erik. “She has a point,” he says with a shrug, and Erik hates to admit they’re both right.

“Goddamnit,” he mutters, turning away from both of them, running a hand over his head. He takes a breath, and when that doesn’t make him feel any better he starts pacing, fingers twitching.

He’d really like to kill something right now. 

Shuri asks, “What’s his problem?” at the same time Bucky approaches him, softly saying his name.

“Erik…” 

He doesn’t try to touch Erik, which is good, because Erik would feel a little bad about punching him in the face right now. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and shuts it all down. No emotions, no feelings. Just… cold. Empty.

“I had a dream too,” he says. 

Shuri looks equal parts excited and angry at this revelation. Like she doesn’t believe he deserves to have any, but wants to know as much as she can anyways. 

“What did you dream?” she asks. She’s stronger than he gave her credit for before, to not let the anger win out. She probably makes a pretty good princess.

So… Erik tells them. He tells them how Bast came to him, what she asked of him. That Karkadann is dead, that Ammit is next.

When he’s done, Shuri is already typing something furiously onto a private Kimoyo screen. 

“This is bad,” she says. “This is very, very bad. And it is not even your fault this time, Killmonger.”

“Thanks, sweet of you to notice,” he replies. She flips him off, not looking up from her screen. Information moves past too fast for him to see any of it, but her eyes scan everything, flicking around rapidly. 

“Shuri?” Bucky asks. “What do we do?”

“Hmm? What, you are still here?” Shuri finally looks away from the screens, brows furrowed together. 

“Well. It’s my hut, I think,” Bucky replies. 

“Oh. Right. Well, I am completely out of my depth here. We need to know more. I need to find Karkadann… if he is dead, we need to recover his body. And if he is not… we will at least know more.”

“Do you still need me?” Bucky asks. His voice is a little small. Erik swallows hard, looking away.

“Nah, she can find him just fine on her own. You’re coming with me, like you said you would,” Erik says. 

Bucky looks up at him, metal fingers twitching. “Where are we going?”

Erik clenches his jaw, unclenches it. Lets the words unstick from the roof of his mouth and fall out into the air between them.

“We’re going to find Ammit.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trust me this IS an erik killmonger redemption arc but he is certainly not going to seek out ammit because it is the "right thing to do". we'll address his motivations in the next ch... and Start the Hunt. 
> 
> if you wanna know more about the jabari worshipping hanuman, an indian god, you should check out this twitter thread it's really interesting and cool: https://twitter.com/elektrotal/status/966066429417029632?lang=en also explains why hanuman is a gorilla in wakanda, not a monkey


	8. Chapter 8

**Erik**

“Oh no you are not,” says Shuri, and Erik knows it was a mistake to share anything with her. He’s getting sloppy, distracted. He can’t afford to make mistakes like this… but it had pissed him off, thinking there was something wrong with Wakanda. That it took everything from him and still wanted to beg for help. As far as he’s concerned, animals losing their damn minds is a Shuri-and-T’Challa problem, not an Erik-and-sometimes-Bucky problem.

“Watch me,” he says, juts his chin out and straightens his spine. He knows he looms over her like this. That he cuts a fucking imposing figure, and the last time she went against him she nearly got her ass kicked before her brother came to save her. He’s banking on it.

To her credit, Shuri stands her ground. He’d be proud of her if he was in the business of caring anymore. For a long moment they’re at a standstill, glowering at each other from either side of the hut.

It’s Bucky who breaks the awkward silence, clearing his throat and putting both his hands up in the air. Stepping between them.

“Shuri… If Karkadann’s fallen, there’s not much I can do for him,” he says quietly. “I don’t heal things. I kill things. So it’s smarter if I go after Ammit. Maybe we can find out whatever’s doing this. Maybe we can stop it.”

“It is not you I am worried about, Bucky. I do not want that traitor anywhere near the heart of Wakanda’s power. Do you trust him with it?” She levels Bucky with a long, meaningful look.

Erik can’t even argue- he’s got nothing good planned for Ammit. Whatever her instincts are telling her, they’re right.

Bucky just shrugs a little helplessly. “I don’t think we have a choice. Sounds like Bast already made the decision for us.”

And he’s right, or at least Shuri will think he is. Bast did come to him in the dream. She did ask him for help. It’s just, he’s not exactly planning to help.

If something is after these ‘animals of great power’, that means they must be worth something, offer something. If he can get his hands on that power… maybe he can seize Wakanda back. Maybe he can make it so he never has to kneel in shame again.

It’s a good plan, if a little fucked for banking on power-crocodiles being a real thing, but then… not super far fetched, what with panther goddesses bestowing power through glowing herbs and giving prophecies in dreams.

Sometimes, he misses the simplicity of being a ghost. Of wetwork, of hunting a mark, taking them out, rinse and repeat.

Then he remembers the power flowing through his body now, that feeling of invincibility, of _rightness_ , like he’s meant to be king… and he thinks he’d never go back.

Shuri throws her hands up in the air. “Fine! Fine. I am not going to argue with Bast. Come, Bucky, help me get more supplies out of my jet then, it’s parked in the fields nearby. I brought you some new toys.”

She narrows her eyes at Erik, daring him to follow… but he stays still, as Bucky follows Shuri out of the hut.

Well, he stays still for about fifteen seconds, and then he slips quietly out after them, keeping to the shadows.

***  
**Bucky**

Bucky follows Shuri out into warm midday sun, taking a well-walked path towards a great field of grass on which sits Shuri’s own jet. It’s smaller and sleeker than the Royal Talon, though similar in design. It’s bright white, clean lines and smooth silhouette, though Bucky has a feeling it’s got some mean weaponry hidden under its hood.

There’s no one else inside when Shuri hops up, which means she flew it here herself. She walks down the little walkway from the cockpit to the storage hold, and then glances back at Bucky.

“Maybe we should start with the kindergarten stuff, you might be a little rusty.”

“Haha. You’re hilarious,” he says, though a real smile is spreading across his lips. “Take the kiddie gloves off. I can take it.”

“Famous last words. Well, if you are sure.” Shuri shrugs and flips a little latch, and the interior of the jet changes, magnetic sand rippling out from a table in the middle of the storage. When it clears, it looks like they’re standing in a miniature lab, filled with gadgets sitting on tables of sand positioned all around.

Bucky’s eyes are immediately drawn to a sleek black and gold thing tucked away behind a spear. It’s roughly rifle shaped, though like nothing he’s ever seen before… and it hums a little as he approaches.

“Ah. See, I knew you would like it. I had it made special for you, after all.” Shuri grins at him, shifting her weight like she’s just barely contained her excitement. “I didn’t know you’d pick it out so fast. Go on, pick it up.”

He reaches out slowly, reverently, and lifts the rifle into his arms. It’s surprisingly lightweight, and seems to whirr as soon as his metal arm touches it…

Gold spreads across the metal in geometric patterns, coalescing at the tip to form a small glowing point.

“A vibranium rifle. Wakanda does not have much use for guns, but I thought it would be more comfortable for you to use. I have attuned it to your arm, so if it is taken from you, it will become useless. And, if you are separated, you will know where it has gone, and you can go get it back.” She folds her arms. “If you lose it, you better get it back. It’s one of a kind, you know.”

It feels like it’s a part of him, like an extension of his arm. When he holds it, it feels like it’s always been there. Like it belongs.

He feels calm rest easy on his shoulders, his stance already straighter, his eyes ahead, alert.

“So… is it just a gun?” he asks, because he knows Shuri would never make Just a Gun.

She laughs, and reaches over to point at the markings. “Press that one, right there.”

He does, and the glow turns purple.

“Kinetic beam. Non-lethal, but capable of lifting up to one ton of weight at a time. Squeeze and hold the trigger to sustain the hold… fire like normal to shoot out beams of pressure. Like… a long-distance punch to the face.”

Bucky nods, and presses the marking again. It switches back to gold.

“So, gold to kill, purple to disable.”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “Very simplistic, but yes. That’s about the gist of my extremely sophisticated and proprietary technology. Honestly.”

She leads him around to the rest of the stations, handing him remote kimoyo beads and other little gadgets. She gets to the last table, where a blue jacket is resting in the sand.

Bucky thinks he recognizes this jacket, or maybe its cousin, thousands of miles and 70 years away. He lifts it up gently, metal and skin running over the soft cloth.

“For you. I have woven it with vibranium to keep you safe.”

He smiles, tugging it on slowly. It’s perfectly tailored, snug pressure, but he finds he can move easily in it. Nothing like the old combat getups he used to wear with Hydra.

And… it’s blue. Not black.

Blue.

“Thank you,” he says, and means it. Shuri just smiles, pats his shoulder, and heads to leave the jet.

“You can thank me by saving Wakanda,” she says, hopping out into the grass again. He grins and follows.

“Oh, is that all?”

“I know, it is not much to ask. I am being very reasonable, all things considered. It is a _very_ good gun, Bucky.”

She pauses, stops, and turns to him, face growing more serious.

“You… if Killmonger tries anything funny, you will stop him?” Her eyes fall on the gun in his hands, then up to his face.

He pauses. Looks down at the gun too… and sets it to purple.

“If he tries anything,” Bucky agrees.

They head back to the hut together.

***

**Erik**

He’s sitting in the pile of pillows, going through the bag Shuri dropped on him that morning when they get back. There’s a few blankets, ration packets, survival gear… everything one person might need to last a while on their own out in the savanna. He’s combing through one of the books she packed in there (Wakandan poetry) when Bucky and Shuri return, entering the hut together.

Bucky’s got a new piece in his arms. Erik’s eyes roam over it in appreciation, cataloging every curve.

“They told me you were an expert marksman,” he says, still staring at the gun.

Bucky gives him a wry grin and straps the gun to his back, shrugging. “Sniper in the war. Then I stopped being so picky.”

Erik knows what that means, so he doesn’t push. He gets up, standing by Bucky’s side, looking down his nose at Shuri.

“Do not look at me that way, Killmonger. I am not going to stop you from following Sgt. Barnes around like a kicked puppy if you want to.”

_Nah, you’re just going to ask him to do it for you_ , Erik thinks bitterly, and bites back the urge to say it. He doesn’t need them knowing he followed them, far enough they couldn’t see, relying on that newfound Black Panther power to hear, to see, to track. He’d stayed long enough to hear her warn Bucky, and then he’d left back to the hut.

“Just wondering why you’re still here, princess,” he says instead. Shuri scowls and ignores him, murmuring something to Bucky as she heads back out the door.

_Find Ammit. Please_.

Erik doesn’t waste time. He repacks the bag, slings it over his shoulder, and jerks his head towards Bucky. “You ready?”

Bucky looks around the hut,  something flashing across his face and Erik _knows_ it isn’t regret, isn’t some stupid sentiment like he’s gonna miss this place, right? Because it’s just a hut and it ain’t even a home, Bucky couldn’t miss it.

But Bucky’s gaze grows serious, and he doesn’t linger.

Together, they head out into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said the hunt would start in this chapter but actually i was legally obligated to give shuri her james bond q moment and i refused to take it away from her.
> 
> next chapter for sure i swear they'll be Alone Together and On the Hunt


	9. Chapter 9

**Bucky**

There’s a final gift waiting for him outside the hut, parked under the umbrella of an old acacia tree. It stands out against the golden grass, like a smear of charcoal on the canvas. He runs his fingers reverently over the sleek matte chassis, and can’t fight the soft smile on his lips.

Shuri made him a motorcycle. It hums to life when he touches it with the metal arm, recognizing his touch. He doesn’t deserve this, deserve her kindness. The way she’s always thinking ahead, always developing more and better, for everyone around her. 

She’s… a really good kid. And he’s not gonna look a gift bike in the mouth. Wakanda’s not a large country, but it’s not small either. There’s a lot of ground to cover in a short amount of time.

Erik comes up behind him, a little too uncomfortably into his space, and peers down at the bike with his arms folded.

“I ain’t riding behind you like some damsel,” he says. That’s fair. It’s a sturdy bike, could definitely handle both their weights, but… Bucky hasn’t been that close to someone in a while, and he’d prefer his space.

“N’Neka can get us another,” Bucky replies, because he’s sure she can. The woman has contacts as far as Jabariland, and a finger on the pulse of commerce in the village. If there’s not another bike somewhere around here he’ll be legitimately surprised.

Two hours later, while Erik is quietly judging the fruit cart, Bucky is legitimately surprised. N’Neka shrugs at him. 

“I could get you one, yes, but not today. Our hunters took them out a few days ago and have not returned. If you see them out there, you yell at them to come home already!”

Bucky feels something sinking in his stomach and realizes it’s the Bad News feeling. The “they’re not coming back” feeling. He keeps it to himself, just turns and leaves with a soft word of thanks. Erik follows after him, eyes fixed on Bucky’s face.

“You tell anyone about this I’ll drop  _ your _ ass off a cliff,” Erik says.

Two hours after that, they are riding out on the savanna, Erik’s arms wrapped around Bucky’s waist as they speed through. Bucky can practically feel Erik’s scowl boring into the back of his neck, but he tries to ignore it. The bike won’t go unless Bucky’s the one driving it. It doesn’t even have an ignition.

It’s still better than a tiny Volkswagen and Sam constantly shooting him little scowls as they squabble for Steve’s attention. 

Every so often Erik leans back to watch something as they pass, eyes scanning the horizon. Without speaking they take left and right, eyes always open.

That night they make camp under another acacia, their fire a single spot of warmth in the dark expanse of the Wakandan night. Erik watched the last hints of the sunset disappear behind the mountains, eyes forever fixed on that dying light.

They’re going to Warrior Falls, eyes open on the way for anything Strange™. Tomorrow morning at early dawn they’ll reach the sacred place and search for Ammit. 

Erik comes and sits down next to him as he flips through one of the books Shuri packed. It’s a book of Wakandan fairy tales, and Ammit stares at him from the pages. Her sharp teeth glint against the colorful backdrop of vibrant waters.

“My daddy used to read me these stories when I was a kid,” Erik says, fingers tracing lightly over the form of Ammit. 

Bucky glances over at him, unsure of how to respond. He knows Erik’s father is dead. Just like his parents. He looks back down at Ammit, and can’t help the words that fall from his lips.

“Mamaie… my maternal grandma, she came to New York from Romania. I didn’t sleep well as a kid… used to be such a brat. So I’d stay up until she came in and read to me. Stories from our homeland. Every night, until one day she didn’t come anymore. And I stopped wanting to hear fairy tales.”

Erik takes the book from him, gives Ammit one last glance, and then closes it. “Yeah? You remember any of ‘em?”

Bucky nods, twisting little strands of grass in his fingers as he tries to remember. It feels distant, but he knows if he just reaches out, he’ll be able to touch it. Memories of a happy childhood.

“There’s this one. Tinerețe fără bătrânețe și viață fără de moarte. It was my favorite.” He can still hear his grandma’s voice as she tucked him into bed, strong when he was younger and weaker the more times he asked. 

“There was a king and queen, once, who wanted a child. But nothing they tried worked, until they went to an old man, who gave them some medicine. The queen took it and became pregnant… but before their kid was born, he started screaming in the womb, and he wouldn’t stop.”

“So the king says, ‘Shut up! Shut up, my child, I will give you anything! Shut up, I will give you my kingdom, I will give you a beautiful wife! But the kid won’t be quiet, until finally the king says: I will give you youth without age and life without death. And the kid shut up, and was born.”

“Years passed, and it seemed like the prince had forgotten all about his father’s promise. But one day, he comes to his dad and he says: ‘Where is the ageless youth and deathless life you promised me, the reason for which I was born?’ And dad, he doesn’t know, y’know? He was just saying it, just promising whatever he could to make the kid happy. But the prince says: ‘If you can’t give it to me, I’ll leave home and find it myself.’”

“Lemme guess. He leaves?” Erik’s leaning forward, eyes fixed on Bucky’s face. He nods, looking away into the fire. 

“He leaves. He finds this magic talking horse, who tells him to make it on his journey he’ll need all sorts of weird stuff. So he gets it, and faces all kinds of challenges.” As a kid, Bucky remembers loving this part of the story. The hero’s trials, the Witched Woodpecker and the Dragonne. As an adult, he realizes they’re not really the point of the story anymore, so he glosses over them.

“He reaches the palace where people live ageless and eternal. But the problem is… they’re all lonely, every one of them. They’re so excited to see a new face, they beg him to stay. So he does. It feels like just a few days. Like going to sleep and waking up. But one day while he’s wandering the palace grounds, he’s overcome with longing for his parents again. And he tells his magic horse and his new friends, and they beg him not to leave. But he won’t accept it. Says he’ll just go home and then come back. And they tell him if he leaves, he can’t come back… but he leaves anyways.”

“He passes through all the places he saw just a few days ago, but they’re crumbled, old, and changed. While he slept in an ageless dream, the world passed by him… He goes home, but there’s no one left. They’ve all died, hundreds of years ago. And the prince, he realizes… in his search for an ageless place, he lost everything he once had. And he didn’t know to miss it til it was gone and never coming back. Because you can’t turn back the clock. Death, he finds him in this place, his old home, and gives him a slap. And the prince turns to dust and falls down, dead.”

With the story done, Bucky can’t help feeling a little vulnerable. It’s more than he’s talked in a long time, more than he’s used his voice since… well.

For a while they sit silently in front of the fire, listening to it crackle. Eventually, Erik breaks the silence.

“Sounds like his daddy shoulda watched what promises he made. The prince wouldn’t have left if his father hadn’t put that bullshit in his head. He wouldn’t have lost anything.”

Bucky’s not sure that’s the point of the story. He’s not sure if there is a point to the story, actually. Most of the tales his grandma told him ended about the same way. Maybe there were happier endings… but Bucky never wanted to hear those ones. 

“Romania’s fucked up,” Erik says again. Then he amends it: “So’s America. So’s most of the world. Ain’t nowhere you can go and not lose everything. So we just teach our kids not to have dreams anymore.”

Bucky doesn’t disagree. He wonders what Steve would say. Probably something about how that’s no reason to give up. That they have to change the world, make it a place where kids can dream again.

Bucky’s just tired. And he doesn’t remember what it feels like to dream anymore.

“Shuri dreams,” he says instead, because she does. She’s always dreaming, bigger and better. And then she makes it real, every day. 

“She’s a naive kid,” Erik replies with a scowl. “She doesn’t know any better. All that shit she makes, all them nice toys? You think the rest of the world gets to see it? Nah. Just Wakanda.”

“Maybe that’s how it used to be… but she told me they’re changing that.” Bucky pauses, not sure if he should say it. Then he figures fuck it. “Because of you. The borders are open now.”

Erik scoffs, turning away. Bucky watches his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, shoulders all scrunched up. Like he’s not really sure how to reply to that. 

Maybe like he’s a little embarrassed, or shocked. 

“We’ll see how long it lasts,” Erik finally replies. “People don’t change that easy. And the rest of the world ain’t just gonna let Wakanda be now. Wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why these animals are going crazy. Goody T’Challa Shoes holding out a fuckin’ olive branch when he should be pointing a spear.”

Bucky thinks he probably agrees. From what he’s seen… when you help someone else, they just take advantage. 

Steve would be disappointed in him. What else is new.

***

**Erik**

Erik dreams. In his dream the world falls away and he floats in technicolor water, schools of colorful fish swirling past him. He reaches out to touch them but they wiggle through his grasp, swimming between the spaces of his fingers.

A vast shadow throws the water into inky darkness. Erik tries to speak, but no sound comes out. He looks up, watching the behemoth pass overhead. Green and gold and red scales blocking out the sun.

Ammit passes, and leaves blood in her wake, staining the glittering blue. 

_ Hurry, child of Bast.  _

He wakes up with a start. The fire has died down to smoldering embers. There’s a warmth on his left side again. He sits up slowly, arm bumping against Bucky’s. The guy’s got his gun cradled in his lap, blue eyes fixed up and out. Keeping watch.

It’s weird, how quickly Erik's gotten used to sleeping around him. How easily he seems to have started trusting.

Probably just because Bucky’s the least annoying guy he’s met in a while. Minds his own business, keeps to himself, good at killing things. All the traits Erik usually looks for in a… not friend, but business partner, he guesses? 

“You always this cuddly?” he asks, because he can’t let Bucky start thinking they _are_ friends or something. Bucky starts a little, and then quickly shuffles away, pink staining his cheeks.

“You were shivering in your sleep,” Bucky says.

And they’re both military, it’s not really that weird. He just doesn’t want Bucky getting too comfortable. Doesn’t want him making the mistake of thinking Erik’s gonna help him or anything, be on his side. That Erik can be trusted.

… Fuck, he’s getting soft.

“S’get going,” Erik says. 

So going they get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "only one motorcycle" is the new "only one bed".
> 
> "Youth without Age and Life without Death" comes from a compendium of romanian folktales by Petre Ispirescu. Bucky's version is based off of the translation by Dan Timotin. read the whole story here (i left out a lot of good stuff for the sake of brevity!): https://aainanagar.com/2015/04/03/youth-without-old-and-life-without-death/


End file.
